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86 [[strikethrough]] Monday, March 26, 1928 [[/strikethrough]] The Edward Mayer On board the S.S. Coute Grande The bottle of champagne lay tilted in the silvered bucket which sweated from the ice inside. Thru the pink shade on the lamp the light shone down on the knives and forks and spoons and the glistening plates. Two napkins stood up bravely from the plate. The flowers stood up straight, too. Most of the tables in the dining room where filled already, except perhaps the Purser's, since he and his party were lingering in the bar. The Edward Mayer was lingering in the bar, too, and staring silently at the Moorish decorations. Mrs. Edward Mayer fixed a shoulder strap, angrily, regretting perhaps the [[strikethrough]] change from [[/strikethrough]] sacrifice of ladies-make for [[strikethrough]] to [[/strikethrough]] husband. Mr. Mayer watched carefully, smoothing his already smooth blonde hair, and pushing up his un-rimmed eye glasses over his fish-life eyes. "Ready, dear", he asked gruffly, – and they went down to the little table. The hors d'oeuvre came and and were eaten. Likewise the soup. The steward genially uncorked the bottle, which popped enough to cause the party of middle-western-sexless school teachers to look at the couple, and snipe vicariously for the honey-mooners. Bubbling in the slender-stemmed glasses it stood – and Mrs. Edward Mayer's slender fingers lifted it to her red, red lips – hesitated and she said "Well, hear's hoping you're in a better humor to-morrow, darling" and drank it down. Then out came th exquisite enamel compact and up snapped the cover so that in the mirror Mrs. Edward Mayer 87 Tuesday, March 27, 1928 saw in little portions the very blonde hair, the intensely black eye-brows and eyes, the little up-turned, well-powdered and the striekingly red-lips. Mr. Edwrd Mayer took up his glass and drank without speaking a toast, but it seemed as if he could have said many too many for the one small glassful. The school-teachers smirked at and nudged each other – weren't they cute, so happy, and clever. In one of the three adjectives the school marms were correct. Mrs. Edward Mayer was cute. She had always been popular as a debutante with the youths who had long roadsters and who handled equally well a tennis racquet and a girl on the dance floor. So happy? So clever? The Mayers were not clever. True, Mr. Mayer had graduated from college and had been working on Wall Street and Mrs. Mayer had concientiously gone through Europe with [[?Bodzaler]] to get cultured – And true, they thought themselves clever –. Mrs. Mayer lifted her glass and fingered it a while. Then suddenly she looked at her husband, difiantly – "there is no use arguing," she said with the voice of someone putting up a bold front in a [[strikethrough]] [[?unsung]] [[/strikethrough]] losing battle," no matter what you say about the Milan cathedral, I know Chartreuse is the most beautiful int he world" and she gulped down the last few bubbles. The school-teachers nudged and smirked again to see their little honey-mooners so contented looking .....
